


Back to Earth, Tiger

by ironspidersenses



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Cowgirl Position, F/M, Gags, Irresponsible Use of Web Fluid, Mild Femdom, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironspidersenses/pseuds/ironspidersenses
Summary: At the end of the day, even if a bouquet and a suit won't fix all your problems, it's a good first step. Mary Jane Watson certainly seems to agree.





	Back to Earth, Tiger

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse.  
> Peter and MJ's characterizations are a mix of classic 616 and Ultimate, because mixing universes is what this movie is about.
> 
> Unbeta'd and contains unsafe sex practices (use a condom!), although technically any sex involving superpowers is probably unsafe

When Peter bought a bouquet for his ex-wife, he expected that she might politely thank him before asking him to leave. He hoped that she would invite him inside, but he thought that he was being too idealistic. He did not expect for Mary Jane Watson to grab him by the tie, teary-eyed yet grinning. She whispered in his ear, something about missing him, before adding that it was “only sometimes, and other times being very angry instead”. He was quick to point out was mutual as she grinned at him before pulling him into a kiss.

She looked at him like she might never see him again, he realized. It scared him, to think about what would have happened if he had stayed behind to close the collider; the idea of MJ never knowing what had happened to him, the Spider-Man who broke her heart. When she pulled away, she stepped back up her front steps, his suit lapel in hand, and he laughed, a real, earnest laugh, and he hasn't been there in years but he hung his jacket by the door like it was yesterday, like this had been his home forever.

She straightened out his tie before letting go of him, saying she was “insistent on keeping this bouquet alive”, and he sat on her couch – although, technically, of course, theirs, because yes, he did pick it out – and took a deep breath. He was alive, back in his universe, and MJ had not, in fact, kicked him to the curb when he showed up on her doorstep years late with flowers. He turned to the hallway seconds before she returned without vase nor flowers, and Peter had the fleeting thought that she could have thrown them out before her smile dampened his fears.

They spent almost an hour talking, the buzz of the Bugle's stories fading as he heard everything he'd missed for the past year. It was at the tail end of a laugh that she said, “Well, Pete, want to see the redecorated bedroom?” It was a blatant invitation to bed, even by MJ standards.

He couldn't refuse something like that, even while he thought that they should probably talk, discuss their relationship, that he should apologize for the things he said and for his hasty insistence on a divorce. He didn't say anything as he was dragged by the arm – she couldn't move him if he didn't want to be moved, of course, but he very much did – and he was still speechless as she pushed him back until his legs hit the bed. Her hands were slow, deliberate in every movement as she unbuttoned his shirt, as she worked off his slacks. Once he was left in his (thankfully, clean) underwear and with his web-shooters left on his wrists, she pushed him onto the bed, stepping back to take off her shirt, to slip out of her skirt, and to discard her bra. Her panties were red, with a black web pattern and god damn it, if he wasn't a 19-year old head over heels all over again.

Peter was well aware of the fact that he was very hard from seeing his ex-wife in her underwear. He was also aware that MJ was aware of this, because she was lifting his hips up with one hand and sliding off his underwear with the other, tossing them on the ground with his suit pieces before sliding off her panties.

He moved to prop himself on his elbows before her hand met his chest, pushing him back down. “No, honey. If you won't mind,” she said, her voice soft and sweet as fingernails pressed into his flesh, “You're not in charge here.” She sunk, slowly, straddling his thighs and purposefully not touching his dick (which definitely did not drive him insane). But Peter B. Parker was never known for his self-preservation skills. He flushed red as he nodded, smiling. “How can you be so sure?” He was a master of poking the bear, of forcing the hands of criminals and idiots and idiot criminals with words. MJ was trailing fingers up and down his thigh with a positive smirk, looking almost contemplative. “Because I know what you want. Don't I?”

Peter was used to making split second decisions, things that could cost lives. In that instant, he felt a fraction of those same nerves, even when he was with the person he trusted the most out of any universe. He was used to coasting on adrenaline, so it made sense to be nervous in a moment like this, he supposed. Or maybe he'd permanently rewired his brain chemistry. Peter's neurological condition aside, MJ was still holding one hand on his chest while the other moved along his hips, his legs, roaming around. Her hair was just the slightest bit out of place, and her eyes bore into him. He thought back to fighting Kingpin, how easily he could have been killed in a moment like his other self, or how his atoms could've taken pretty poorly to the wrong universe and torn him apart. Peter was intensely lucky to be alive, let alone alive in bed with the love of his life.

“Well, usually, I like the way you think.” Her smile was infectious, even when he had no idea what was in store for him – she knew exactly what to do to unravel him, piece by piece, and he couldn't deny that, especially not when her hand was moving to his dick, fingertips tracing up and down the length, still meeting his eyes as she lowered her other hand to herself. His stomach and legs prevented him from getting a full view of what she was doing to herself, so Peter was stuck watching the rest of her, taking in the way she tried to keep her breathing steady as she sped her movements with both hands, finally wrapping her fingers around to grip Peter's shaft.

Peter was 38 years old, and here he was, thrusting into MJ's hand like a boy who'd never been touched in his life. MJ's grip loosened as she brought her other hand up from herself and to his mouth. He took two of her fingers into his mouth like second nature, like they hadn't been separated for months, watching as she chuckled at the sight of him. She leaned down over him as she readjusts herself, and replaced her fingers with her mouth on his. She sat back up, one hand tracing his chest while the other was back on his cock, lining him up with her entrance carefully. “Back to Earth, tiger.” She grinned at him, sitting back up and holding herself there, the two of them in limbo together. “What do you want?”

Her self control was much stronger than his, and he bucked up, testing the waters and confirming his suspicions when she moved up with him, preventing him what he wanted. The hand that had been tracing his pecs moved down to hold his hip. She knew how strong he was, but this was part of the trust, that he wouldn't, as she called it once, “cheat their system”. So Peter instead slowly put his hands on her hips, teasing her sides with calloused fingers. He held back the intense urge to quip. “I just want you, MJ. Whatever you need.”

She smiled, eyebrows raised with what he hoped was pleasant surprise. His suspicions were confirmed when she said, “Good answer.” And sunk down onto him without another word. She leaned, slowly, until she was hanging over him, one arm next to his head and the other reaching to his arm, pulling it from her body and toying with his web-shooter, gently unclipping it before aiming it at his face. “This alright?”

He kept his mouth closed as he nodded – he knew better than to open it, because no matter what, he never prioritized making his webs taste good (he'd have to invest some time later, for webs for personal use). He was still a little unhappy about the sudden cold that covered his mouth as the web gagged him, but that was nothing. MJ seemed satisfied, though, starting to grind herself against him and gently placing her hands on his now-bared wrists, pushing them down and pining them above his head.

Peter, without his hands, began to grind up into her, and this time, MJ did not stop him. Instead, she moaned, and Peter groaned into his web-gag in turn. She lifted up, readjusted until she could lean forward a little more, pushing his wrists into the mattress as she sunk back down, another noise leaving her throat. Now, she was moving more, long strokes interspersed with grinding onto him.

It wasn't long before she released his wrists, one hand staying on the mattress to hold herself up while another reached between them. “Pete, touch me.” She said, her voice shaky but still soft. Peter complied (who could turn down an offer like that?), one hand cupping her breast and the other joining her hand between her legs. He lifted his head just a bit, taking a glance of her ministrations before laying his head back down.

He cupped his hand over hers, joining her in circling her clit as she ground on him. She groaned, louder than before and clenched around him as she came, and that was all it took for him to lose his control, coming inside her. She leaned down onto his chest, leaving a kiss on his jawline as he pulled the webbing from his face. “I've missed you, tiger.”  
He ran a hand down her back while his other one pushed her hair out of her face, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I'm not going anywhere, MJ. I'm here for you.”


End file.
